


way far beyond

by squirmingbubbles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Boys In Love, Canon Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reunions, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, tbh idk how sad this is but steeb is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirmingbubbles/pseuds/squirmingbubbles
Summary: But here it is, pure and naked. No jokes, no tricks, no catches, no lies. Here is the truth. Here is the honest to god, real, genuine fucking truth.Steve loves Bucky to utter pieces.Steve has killed for Bucky. Steve has died for Bucky.Steve put him before the Avengers. If given the choice, he’d put Bucky before the fate of the universe. Betray everything and leave ruins and devastation behind him if it made Bucky smile.But no matter how he’s shown it, or the extent of those actions, or how much he’s felt it… he has never said it.Bucky doesn’t know.And Bucky’s gone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking back at this and couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to EDIT. So, here we are. Original post in next chapter.  
Begins soon after the events of Infinity War. NOT endgame compliant at ALL. Everyone is fully healthy with full memories and full bodies. Feedback welcome. Please enjoy!  
(unbetaed, all mistakes are mine and mine alone)
> 
> Infinity – Jaymes Young:  
Baby, this love, I'll never let it die  
Can't be touched by no one  
I'd like to see him try  
I'm a mad man for your touch, girl, I've lost control  
I'm gonna make this last forever, don't tell me it's impossible  
'Cause I love you for infinity  
I love you for infinity  
'Cause I love you for infinity  
I love you for infinity  
Oh, darling, my soul  
You know it aches for yours  
And you've been filling this hole, since you were born, oh  
'Cause you're the reason I believe in fate  
You're my paradise  
And I'll do anything to be your love, or be your sacrifice

Years ago, before the start of the end, even before the end of the start, Steve Rogers attends an interview. For the first time in seventy years, Captain America is live in the public eye, mere weeks after recovering from the longest and most tragic sleep in history.

He leans into a red chair opposite a man, with his hair trimmed and combed back and the creases of his clothes ironed to oblivion. He answers questions for thirty minutes, from personal to political, and the media takes their pick. Judge. Label. But no matter what they say, all the war propaganda and history books have made one thing certain. Captain America is perfect, loyal and an embodiment of truth.

And just like before, the truth becomes anything the government wants. It’s inevitable. It’s always been that way.

_The truth is Captain America says immigrants should go back to where they came from. The truth is Captain America says women do not need useless rights. The truth is Captain America says homosexuality is wrong, and the truth is Captain America is right. _

Hot blood simmers through Steve’s veins every time he hears it.

Three years later, Steve Rogers takes down HYDRA, who have been floating throughout SHIELD without bounds. Similarly, Steve Rogers embarks a decision to eliminate every one of those diseased thoughts floating through the government’s publicity. Steve Rogers attends another interview.

The media takes their pick again. Steve Rogers is lonely, loyal and an embodiment of truth. Except for this time, the truth becomes what Steve wants it to be. What Steve knows it to be. For the first time, the truth becomes true. Steve Rogers is the son of immigrants, is a feminist, supports homosexual rights.

And even then, it is not everything. Steve is honest, but he isn’t open. The media speculates and memes, _#givecaptainamericaaboyfriend_, but nobody realises the truth behind their words. Not even his best friend of almost a hundred years. Steve is too good at hiding. He’s learnt how to do it flawlessly.

The media does notice his ability to disappear. They do when the UN explodes, the Winter Soldier is made, and Tony Stark returns from Siberia with a shield and not a Captain.

The media may think they hold the truth about Steve Rogers, but they don’t, and they never will.

But here it is, pure and naked. No jokes, no tricks, no catches, no lies. Here is the truth. Here is the honest to god, real, genuine fucking truth.

Steve loves Bucky to utter pieces.

Steve has killed for Bucky. Steve has died for Bucky.

Steve put him before the Avengers. If given the choice, he’d put Bucky before the fate of the universe. Betray everything and leave ruins and devastation behind him if it made Bucky smile.

Because Bucky captures him. Bucky has infiltrated every fibre of Steve’s being, ever since ’38 when he’d been a saviour from bullies with the sun shining on his back illuminating his figure like an angel. How many times has Steve wondered where his wings and halo were hiding? 

Bucky is just loss after loss after loss, and every time Steve wonders if this will be it. _Is this going to be the last time I ever see you? _

They vowed they would always go back to each other, and they swore they’d never leave no matter the circumstance. _I’m with you till the end of the line._ That’s set-in-stone. That’s a truth engraved upon the very stars.

But no matter how he’s shown it, or the extent of those actions, or how much he’s felt it… he has never said it.

Bucky doesn’t know.

And Bucky’s gone.

++

Dust. That’s all that’s left of the man he has loved since… since as long as he can remember. That’s all that’s left of everyone. Piles of dust, either gone with the wind or blown to the skies. Dust transforming into a looming, dark cloud of pollution hovering over their heads every day. The epic grave taunts them, the infinite specks taking a space that used to hold lovers, family and friends, and which now hold such little significance in the world. 

Everyone is nothing now.

No – it can’t. No. _No. _They can’t be gone. Bucky can’t be—

Steve needs him more than the breath in his lungs. If Steve’s heart continues to shatter like this, he’s not sure that it’ll ever repair. The serum may have enhanced his body, but his heart is just as fragile as anybody else’s. 

Distantly, he knows denial is the first stage of grief, but Steve doesn’t think that his mind reliably followed the order of those stages. His mind forever denies and bargains and he’s always depressed or angry at the world. But acceptance?

Steve will not accept it_._ Bucky can’t stay dead if Steve isn’t there with him. He needs to come back, and he can, can’t he? If there’s any way to get that brunet warm and alive and breathing in his arms, he’ll take it without a beat. Steve doesn’t care how. Bucky’s come back before, and he can do it again. He can. He has to. _Please. _

What is he meant to do in a world absent of Bucky? He’s done it before too, but he’d only scraped himself through with missions as daily distractions. Those aren’t there anymore, at least not any distracting ones. Now, the only missions are _organise the pieces left behind in the aftermath_. Steve isn’t sure he can survive a world without Bucky, and he isn’t sure if he wants to try and be here on his own at all. 

Nobody else could be there for him like Bucky had been. They don’t know how because they don’t even know who he is. He’s isn’t Captain America, or a legend and saviour from World War II. Not Rogers, or Sir, or Cap. He’s Steve, and only one person has truly understood what the difference means. 

He was alone for so long – three years, but it had felt so long. He wouldn't hold together if he did it again. Steve is destined to crumble like biscuits in a rolling tin. The tendons in his body will be crushed and stretched and torn into bits. His joints will be ripped apart from their place. He will become distorted into the bodies that rest in the fields of Azzano within his nightmares. 

He’ll be the only man died twice for the same reason. Hah, Steve thinks. Bet the history books would love that. Two dubious suicides mere days after the same loss. Maybe, somehow, the media will find out the truth then. 

_ Come back to me, Bucky. Please don’t leave me here. I want to be there with you. And if you can’t take me with you, then show me how I can find you. I need to find you.  _

Steve won’t stop. 

++

“You did it?” Steve asks as Natasha’s figure emerges from the shadows of the arched entry.

The assassin offers a sad smile. Dirt and enemy blood stick to the soles of her combat boots, softly squelching as she strides over. She holds his shoulders, and she’s close enough that the unmissable smell of blood smeared across her bruised skin engulf his senses.

“_We _did, Steve.” 

Tony follows with a thick, black suitcase clutched in a sweating palm. The Iron Man suit hovers carefully behind, ready to shield its owner at any danger’s notice. 

“Okay, good job team. Time to get the ball on the roll. Who wants to do the honours?” 

“I will.” 

When will he not? 

“It’ll hurt,” Natasha warns. 

“There are risks involved,” Clint adds, collecting arrows from lying corpses. 

A troubled grimace distorts the billionaire’s lips as his head shakes. “I was kidding. I’ll make a machine; it’ll take me three hours. Sorry, but I can’t guarantee your safety after something like this, Cap.” 

Don't they understand? He doesn’t care_._ He’ll do it. He’ll do anything to bring him back, to bring them all back. He can’t wait any longer; he has to do it, now. 

“Let me.” He commands it, but it’s not Captain America giving the order. He can hear his own mania in the tremble of his voice. 

He knows when Natasha glances at Tony and Rhodes shakes his head behind them, that he won’t win this. Rage fuels him, a hot, simmering thing boiling in his bones. What are they waiting for? Do they need any more incentive to fix everything they messed up? Is the casualty count not yet enough for them? How many people must die for everybody to see this as the only right choice? 

Steve steps over rubble and bodies towards Tony, ignoring the suit fastening itself defensively to the man. It takes effort to swallow. “Tony. Please.” 

Nobody moves for a while, and when Steve realises the clear disapproval, he makes another step. He’s no longer facing a man. He’s facing Iron Man, hovering above the dirt and backing away, arm raised. It doesn’t faze Steve. 

Somehow, Natasha maneuverers her way beneath his arm to snake her way in front of him. Small, firm hands push his chest and hold him in place. Steve could overpower her, but he doesn’t. It seems any physical resistance is all he needed. 

“Look at me, Steve.” He does, wrapping fingers around her delicate but unmistakeably deadly wrists. She doesn’t flinch. “Let yourself see him again. If you can’t do that, then let _him_ see you again. Don’t make him come back to you dead. I know you hated yourself more than anyone when it happened to you.”

_ Don’t hurt Bucky,  _ she’s saying. Steve winces. 

_ I’d never.  _

++

Blue eyes scan the area like a hawk. Too many. Too many people died in Wakanda. Realistically, it shouldn’t be too hard. Not this hard. For starters, Bucky’s pale and most people here have dark skin. But it seems that everybody is being revived some hundred meters from where they died, and _too many people died in Wakanda. _

Lost as a ball in the high weeds, Steve glides into the sea. He cranes his neck, trying to sweep his eyes over every single person, but it’s so hard. Everyone is dazed, everyone is lost, everyone is not Bucky.

He must be going in circles. He looks past bodies and tears, but it’s to no avail. He can’t see him. Ten frantic minutes pass in a blink of the eye, and Steve makes his way through the same places three times. He truly must be going in circles, and who knows where Bucky’s going. Who knows if Bucky even survived.

No. Can’t think that way. Drawing in a deep breath, he settles to make another round. He’s sorry he hasn’t found Sam, or Wanda, or T’Challa. He hopes they’re okay, and he’s ashamed to not be searching for them, but his mind feels far too crowded. He’s suffocating in his thoughts. Distracted by others hugging and crying, arms gripping their lost ones tight. So many people are having the reunion that Steve craves.

He runs, reaching for the one thing his heart beats for. Aches for. He searches, searches, searches and searches, resisting the urge to scream loud and broken for Bucky. How many times has he done it so far? One more can’t hurt.

He has no need to. Suddenly, through the mass of bodies, Steve spots the dark hair, pinpoints the other matching pair of blue eyes. He sees him. He finds him.

Steve chokes a sob as he scrambles towards him, offering half-apologies as he pushes through friends and families, unable to contain himself, because that’s _Bucky_. He belongs to Bucky; it’s the only place he’ll ever belong. That is home, his one and only true home. Home isn’t a place. Home is an idea, _it’s where the heart is_, they say, and Bucky is where Steve’s heart has been since forever.

He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do once he reached Bucky. He’d only cared about getting to him. A bare meter before him, he slow and stares as his eyes absorb the sight, the life before him. Bucky met him partway – his face is full of colour, staring right back with the most joyous and genuine smile on his face.

He’s alive.

He’s here and he’s alive and he owns everything that is Steve.

Steve steps forward and grips onto Bucky, pulls him in, clutches as tightly as he can. Metal and flesh fingers dig into his back and tears are jerked out in sobs onto his shoulder. Steve understands Bucky’s tears. He can’t let anything take him away again. He needs Bucky – he always has. How many times have they been torn apart over and over and over? He can’t take it any longer.

Standing there, Steve makes another vow, for his heart to tenderly promise, and it goes like this. Never again will anything take Bucky away from him once more. If something does, Steve is sure he will destroy everything to get him back, both his friends and his foes. He’d never stop until he made someone pay, and even he knows it wouldn’t be pretty. Steve clutches on because he needs Bucky more than oxygen. Bucky is everything, and the world is nothing, and _that _is the truth. 

They don’t say anything. They don’t even try. They do the one thing they know they need to do. They arms envelop each other more earnestly than ever before. 

Steve desires those fingers grasping his own back, both metal and flesh. He’ll have bruises but he doesn’t think he’ll mind being marked by those fingers. He desires those tears against his own shoulder, those uncontrollable jerks against his body. Bucky is crying for him, and that means Bucky missed him, maybe still misses him, maybe wants him like he does in return, maybe needs him nearly as much. 

_ I’m with you till the end of the line, and this is not the end, not yet. We are forever, eternal. We’re us and united, and it will stay this way because I found you, and I’ve got you, and I love you, and I’m not letting you go away anymore. _

Without meaning to, Steve draws back just far enough to kiss his sweetheart’s soft, pink lips.

Bucky stills. The air stops. 

The brunet turns his head to look at Steve, his eyes as wide as saucers. Panic floods Steve’s senses. He didn’t mean to do that. Stupid, stupid, fatal mistake. Bucky will reject him, and then Steve won’t have him, and then that’s it. He’ll lose his home, his very reason to life, everything_. _

“Buck.” Steve stammers, his head spinning to find the right words. “I… oh God, I’m sorry. Sorry. Please, I didn’t mean...” but what didn’t he mean? Even if he didn’t mean to do it, he meant the unspoken words they carried and it’s _I want you, I need you, I love you._

A sharp huff pushes Bucky’s breath against Steve’s skin, and then he does the weirdest thing Steve’s ever seen him do. 

He tilts his head, eyes fluttering closed, and he kisses him. Bucky cradles his cheeks in one cold hand and one warm one, both as gentle as each other, leans right in and _kisses him. _

It’s the most magical and unexpected moment of his life. His heart yearns for it to last forever, only to be betrayed by his own incapability. His tears build again, a strangled whimper surpassing his lips into Bucky’s, and he starts crying for a whole other reason altogether. Steve tries to prolong the kiss, to return it just like he’s always dreamt for, like he’s imagined and desired… but he’s crying, he’sruiningit, he’s fucking _ruining it_, what’s _wrong_ with him—.

His fingers catch Bucky’s jaw, just as his legs tremble too far and fail beneath his weight. Steve sinks to the floor, hands clasping onto Bucky’s as he sobs without control. 

And Bucky follows him,because Bucky told him he would, seventy years ago. _That little kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, _he’d said, his eyes that night both the most drained and most genuine Steve has even seen them. _I’m following him. _

Bucky falls to his knees and firmly coils his arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve knows he couldn’t resist the arm’s strength, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t even try to stop. He whimpers, blubbers, spills tears into the crook of that neck. Fingers grasp his locks of hair, holds him to his skin. 

“I’m here.” It’s right in his ear; low, soft with tears. 

Steve nods, frantic. His voice is hoarse and feeble, but he doesn’t let it stop him from replying. “Hi.” 

“Hey, Steve. I’m here. We’re here.”

It’s true. Bucky is here, and this time he’s going to stay. 

++

Here is the truth. In the few private hours that he’d stolen in-between stage shows during his tours back in ’42, Steve wrote a letter on the back of a Star-Spangled-Man promotional poster. His scrawled chicken scratch had revealed the entire truth to the only person who deserved to hear it. It was nothing neat or fancy, but it was cathartic, and exactly what he had needed. 

The craziest part is that he had almost sent the thing to the mail, where it would have been checked by dozens of government and military facilities. He’d nearly sent a confession of forbidden but eternal love and desire. He’d almost sent his self-pitiful cries of being surrounded by half-naked girls and yet still rubbing out every night to memories of him. 

What if he had sent it? Who knows how harshly someone would have reacted? He wasn’t a nobody then anymore, but he wasn’t anybody significant either. Anybody could have played the monkey on the stage. His desperation to contribute _anything_ for the war had been exploited by a businessman who had needed a clown. He’d have never been let anywhere near the front lines. 

If he had sent it, he wouldn’t have been able to save Bucky.

But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d kept the secrets safe and sent it to a hungry flame. 

Looking back often doesn’t help anybody, but if Steve could go back, he’d have told Bucky the truth before the war tore them apart. Maybe then they’d have managed their way through the few peaceful years they had left together. If he could go back, he’d have kept the letter safe in his top pocket and delivered it to Bucky in person when he was recovering from Azzano. 

If Steve could go back, he’d have abandoned his fight with Red Skull and left the responsibility to Peggy, Howard and the Howling Commandos. He would have jumped when Bucky fell because Steve’s world isn’t the dirt beneath his feet, but his loyal Sergeant. And when his world was falling, he should have fallen with it. 

But looking back doesn’t often help anybody, and no matter these regrets, these twists in fate he would have made… Steve will not trade this day for anything. Despite the pain and tragedy, what he has today outweighed anything else he could have had. 

The sheets rustle gently as Steve carefully rolls around to face the brunet beside him. He trails his fingers up a cold, smooth, metal arm, tracing along the grooves. Steve can hear the quiet whirrs sounding out from inside his arm that most ears wouldn’t hear. He traces his hand up to cradle Bucky’s cheek, stroking his thumb against the rough stubble as he presses a fluttering kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Bucky feels that a lot more than he felt his fingers on his arm. The brunet exhales, unknowingly blowing air onto his face, and after a soft stir, he melts back into a blissful sleep. Steve doesn’t try to hide the grin spreading across his face until his cheeks hurt. The sticky, disgusting mess on their bodies don’t annoy him as much as they should. In fact, a part of Steve appreciates the uncomfortable sensation. It’s a reminder for everything he’s somehow earned for his long, long, long wait. 

Steve finds some paper. He writes. 

++

_Bucky, _

_ I have no clue how to say any of this, but you know my stubbornness exceeds my willingness to submit to anything. My fight will always conquer flight no matter the enemy. You also understand my mind has been messy, and I can only hope you understand what I try to say.  _

_ I will always find you.  _

_ I cannot see the future, and I deeply hope for no more fights, but this promise stands no matter what may come. Whether we are once again forced apart, captured, enslaved, forgotten or killed, over and over again. But no matter how far we are pulled from each other, I will always find you.  _

_ I’ve loved you, and I still love you, and I’ll always love you, through heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak. You’re it for me, Bucky Barnes. I’ll suffer everything that you or fate wish to watch me endure. I was made for you and nothing else. Everything of me is yours, and I am enraptured you’ve taken me.  _

_ You must understand that I will never expect this returned. I know I am intense and obsessive in my expressions of love for you, my darling, but I have no wish to force this from you. True, I offer myself, but please don’t need to take me any longer than you want to. If you want forever, I’ll be there. If you don’t, then I’ll take whatever you do want. No guilt, no promises. Just know that I’ll be here for you, no matter the circumstance.  _

_ I see the ocean in your eyes. Layers of deep sea, all the way down to where the haunted creatures roam. Though I am trying to be clear in my words, when I get lost in your abyss, I can see that you understand everything I’m telling you here. You know me better than I know myself. Maybe it makes this letter meaningless, but I need to write it as much as I need to know you read it. Have you tried writing, sweetheart? It may calm you the way it calms me. I feel it almost transfers my emotions to the page and makes the weight easier to carry. I know you’re holding a lot of weight. Share it; with me or with paper. Neither will judge.  _

_ It baffles me that even though you understand what I have mentioned, you’re still taking me. You want to take me, and I don’t know why. I never thought we would end up like this. I’d imagined and desired and hoped, but I never thought you’d really do it. You really are all kinds of beautiful crazy.  _

_ I think maybe you were made for me too. I hope so. You’ve loved me back. I may not know why, but you have. You do. There’s nothing more I could have wanted from you. The one thing that is clear to my mind is that I don’t deserve you. You’re far too loyal and compassionate and daring. Too perfect to waste on me. They always say I’m a good man, and maybe I can be, but you’ve always been good. You’ve always been better, and I hope one day you believe it.  _

_ You have saved me countless times. You jumped after me, even though I didn’t jump for you when it really mattered. This letter may be difficult to compose, but it doesn’t compare to the grief tormenting me for not doing it for you. The pain tortures my soul every day I think of you. I can’t turn back time, but from now on, I will chase you, follow you, and jump. I’d either catch you or die with you, and in the end, at least we’d be together.  _

_ If I had it my way, we’d have been dead and curled together in the same grave before the war. I’d have never been Captain America and you’d be neither the Sergeant nor the Soldier. We’d be just us. You know what that means. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, hands held as our bodies decayed beneath the ground. Nobody would disturb us or separate us again. It’s morbid, I know. But I do wonder why we didn’t deserve that ending. Why we couldn’t have escaped all this pain and found a way to be together at home before a short but fulfilled life.  _

_ But we’re alive now, darling. We are warm and alive and breathing in each other’s arms. I want to live this with you, in this time we have to fill these empty memories.  _

_ If there’s anything I want you to remember, it’s these next words. I’ll remind you every chance I have, for as long as you’ll let me do so.  _

_ I love you.  _

_ I will always love you, Bucky Barnes. Until the end of the line, and way far beyond.  _

_ Love and truly,  _

_ Yours.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this took me a lot longer than it needed to. Hopefully, this rewrite was an improvement. I think I’ve created a better rhythm and a made the different parts more connective  
*Steve and Bucky both believe the other to be the better man  
*Steve did put Bucky before the Avengers (and the accords)  
*of course, Steve noticed Bucky had jumped when it was his turn to fall, and of course the first thing he thought was that the last time Bucky saw him was when Steve wasn’t going after him


	2. original draft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But here it is, pure and naked. No jokes, tricks, catches, nothing. Here is the truth. Here is the honest to god, real, genuine fucking truth.
> 
> Steve loves Bucky. He loves him to utter pieces.
> 
> Steve would die for Bucky. Steve would kill for Bucky. Steve has killed for Bucky.
> 
> Steve has put Bucky before the Avengers. Steve would, if given the choice, put Bucky before the fate of the universe.
> 
> But no matter how much he’s shown it, no matter the extent of those actions, no matter how much he’s felt it… he has never said it.
> 
> Bucky doesn’t know.
> 
> And Bucky’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the original draft I wrote. It's all the same story, but I think I improved it.

Years ago, before the start of the end, and before the end of the start, Steve Rogers attends an interview.

For the first time in seventy years, Captain America is live and alive in the public eye, mere weeks after recovering from the longest sleep anyone ever had. Steve, hair trimmed and combed back, every crease on his clothes ironed to nothing, sits down in a red room with a man and answers his questions for thirty minutes. The media judges him, labels him; loyal, perfect, the truth.

The truth becomes what the government wants. It’s inevitable. Steve supposes that after the serum, he always has been what they wanted him to be. The truth is, Steve Rogers says that immigrants should go back to where they came from. The truth is, Steve Rogers says that women have no need of useless rights. Steve Rogers says that homosexuality is wrong, and Steve Rogers is right.

But none of it is correct. 

  
Three years later, Steve Rogers takes down HYDRA, which has been floating throughout SHIELD without bounds. Similarly, Steve Rogers embarks a decision to eliminate every diseased thought floating through the government.

Steve Rogers attends another interview. The media takes their pick again. Loyal, lonely, the truth.

The truth becomes what _Steve_ wants it to be. The truth becomes true. Steve Rogers is the son of immigrants, is a feminist, supports homosexual rights.

Even then, it is not everything. Even then, Steve is honest, but he isn’t open. He knows how to hide. The media; it jokes, speculates, memes about it, but it never does realise the truth. It does not realise Steve. Nobody realises Steve, not truly_, _not even his best friend of almost a hundred years. He’s too good at hiding.

Funnily enough, the media picks _that_ up, his ability to disappear, when the UN is blown up and the Winter Soldier is made and Tony Stark returns from Siberia with a shield and not a Captain.

They all think they have the truth. They do not. They will never.

But here it is, pure and naked. No jokes, tricks, catches, nothing. Here is the truth. Here is the honest to god, real, genuine fucking truth.

Steve loves Bucky. He loves him to utter pieces.

Steve would die for Bucky. Steve would kill for Bucky. Steve has killed for Bucky.

Steve has put Bucky before the Avengers. Steve would, if given the choice, put Bucky before the fate of the universe.

And he’s shown it – he has shown that to Bucky. He has betrayed, and he has fought, and he has killed.

Because Bucky has captured him. Bucky has infiltrated every fibre of Steve’s being, ever since ’38 when he’d stood over him. He’d been there, saving him from bullies, sun shining on his back like an angel. The first of a constant cycle.

And Bucky is just loss after loss after loss, and every time Steve wonders if this is it; _is this going to be the last time I ever see you? _

They swore to each other; vowed it. They will always go back to each other. They’ll never leave, no matter what. _I’m with you till the end of the line. _That’s set-in stone. That’s a truth engraved upon the very stars.

But no matter how much he’s shown it, no matter the extent of those actions, no matter how much he’s felt it… he has never said it.

Bucky doesn’t know.

And Bucky’s gone.

———

Dust. That’s all that’s left of the man he loves, the man he’s loved for years, for a lifetime, forever. All that’s left is dust, all that’s left of _everyone _is just piles of _dust. _Gone with the wind. Blown to the skies. Flying. Infinite specks holding little significance in the world, taking a space that used to hold lovers, parents, siblings, family and friends.

_Everyone is nothing now. _

No – it can’t. No. _No. _They can’t be gone. Bucky can’t be gone. He can’t be gone because Steve needs him; like air, like water.

Nothing breaks the way a heart can. If Steve’s continues to shatter this way so often, he’s not sure it can be repaired again. The serum enhanced his body… but his heart. It’s just as fragile as anybody else.

He knows, distantly, that denial is the first stage of grief, followed by anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Still, he’s never felt like he followed that order. He’s forever bargaining and denying. He’ll never stop being depressed or angry at the world.

Steve will not accept it_._ Bucky needs to come back. He can’t stay dead, not if Steve isn’t there with him.

Bucky can come back_. _There’s got to be a way, any way at all; he’ll take it. It’s happened before, hasn’t it? Steve keeps that in mind. Bucky can come back because he’s done it once which means that he can do it again. He has to. He _has_ to, _please. _Steve doesn’t know what he’d do in a world absent of Bucky. He’s not sure he could live here without him, now, in this place. In this world_. _He’s unsure he wants to. He’s unsure just how willing he is to stay here on his own.

He’s truly on his own. Nobody else could be there for him like Bucky had been. Nobody else knows how, and nobody knows him for who he used to be; _has always been. _Not Cap, not some legend, not Rogers, but_ Steve_.

He was alone for so long. Three years, _but it felt so long_. It cannot happen again. He won’t hold together. He can’t. Steve’s set to crumble. He’ll be torn to bits, rip apart. Become the only man who died twice for the same reason. 

_Come back to me, Bucky. Please don’t leave me here. Take me with you. I want to be there with you. Show me how to find you, I need to find you. _

Steve won’t stop.

———

Steve watches Natasha emerge from the shadows. “You did it?”

Natasha offers a sad smile. Dirt and enemy blood stick to her boots as she paces over. She stands before him and holds his shoulders, the left side of her face bruised and smeared with her own blood, her lip split. “_We_ did, Steve.”

Tony follows her, a thick, black suitcase in his hand. The Iron Man suit is slowly following behind him, undone but ready to shield its owner at any danger’s notice. “Okay, everyone; let’s do this. Who wants to do the honours?”

“I will.”

When will he not?

“It’ll hurt,” Natasha warns.

“There’s risks involved,” Clint adds.

Tony just grimaces. He shakes his head at Steve. “I was kidding. I’ll make a machine; it’ll take me three hours. Sorry, but I can’t guarantee your safety after something like that, Cap.”

But _he doesn’t care._ He’ll do it. He will. He’ll do anything to bring him back. To bring them all back. He can’t wait any longer; he has to do it, _now_.

“_Let me_.” He commands it, but it’s not really Captain America giving the order. He knows he sounds more manic than usual. He knows, when Natasha glances at Tony, and Rhodes shakes his head behind them, that he won’t win this. Rage momentarily fuels him. What are they waiting for? Do they need any more incentive to fix everything they messed up? Is the casualty count not yet _enough?_

Steve steps forward, over the rocks and bodies, until he’s right before Tony. He ignores the suit automatically fixing itself to the man and puts out his hand, open, waiting.

It takes effort to swallow. “Tony. Please.”

Seconds pass. Tony doesn’t move, so Steve does. He takes another step forward, and now Tony is Iron Man again, and Iron Man is backing away.

“_Tony._” Steve stomps on the ground. “_Let me have it_.”

Somehow, Natasha maneuverers her way through his arms to reach his front. Her small, firm hands push his chest and hold him in place. Steve could overpower her, but he doesn’t.

“Steve. _Look_ at me.” He does, wrapping his hands around her wrists. She doesn’t flinch. “_Steve, listen! _Let yourself see him again. If you can’t do that, then let _him_ see _you_ again. Don’t make him come back to you dead. I know you hated it when it happened to you.”

_Don’t hurt Bucky, _she’s saying. Steve winces.

_I’d never._

He waits. Tony builds.

———

Blue eyes scan the area like a hawk. Too many people. Too many people died in Wakanda. Realistically, it shouldn’t be too hard. Bucky’s pale, for starters, and most people here aren’t. But it seems that everybody is being revived some hundred meters from where they died, and _too many people died in Wakanda. _

Steve walks forward, into the sea. He cranes his neck, trying to sweep his eyes over every single person, but it’s so hard.

Everyone is dazed, everyone is lost, everyone is _not Bucky_.

Steve spins in a circle. He looks, past the bodies and the tears, but he can’t see him. Ten frantic minutes pass, and Steve makes his way through the same places three times. He’s going in circles, and who knows where Bucky’s going. _Who knows if Bucky survived._

_No. Can’t think that way._ Steve takes a deep breath and begins again. He’s sorry he hasn’t found Sam, or Wanda, or T’Challa. He hopes they’re okay, and he’s ashamed to not be searching, but his mind is far too busy. Distracted by others hugging, others crying. Others having the reunion Steve craves.

Steve runs, reaching for the one thing his heart beats for. _Aches for_. He searches, resisting the urge to scream loud and broken for Bucky. How many times has he done it so far? One more can’t hurt.

He has no need to. Suddenly, through the mass of bodies, Steve spots the dark hair, pinpoints the other matching pair of blue eyes. He sees him. _He finds him._

Steve chokes a sob as he scrambles towards him. He offers half-apologies as he pushes through the people, through friends and family, unable to contain himself, because that’s _Bucky_. He _belongs_ to Bucky; it’s the only place he’ll ever belong. That is home. Bucky is his one and only true home. Home isn’t a place. Home is an idea, it’s where the heart is, they say, and Bucky is where Steve’s heart has been since forever.

He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do once he reached Bucky. He’d only cared about getting to him. A bare meter before him, he slows. He looks. Bucky – having met him partway – seems full of colour, staring into his eyes, the most joyous, genuine smile on his face.

He’s alive.

He’s here and he’s alive and he owns everything that is Steve.

Steve steps forward and grips onto Bucky, pulls him in, clutches as tightly as he can. Metal and flesh fingers dig into his back and tears are jerked out in sobs onto his shoulder. Steve; he can’t let anything take him away again. He needs Bucky, and they’ve been torn apart over and over and over. He can’t take it any longer.

Never again. Never ever will _anything_ take Bucky away anymore. If something does Steve will destroy everything, his friends with his foes, to get him back. He’d never stop, make them pay for sure. Even he knows it wouldn’t be pretty. Steve clutches on, because he needs Bucky more than oxygen, because Bucky is everything and the world is nothing and _that is the truth. _

They don’t say anything. They don’t even try. They just hold onto each other more earnestly than they’ve ever before. Steve desires those fingers grasping his own back, both metal and flesh. He desires those tears against his own shoulder, those uncontrollable jerks against his body. Bucky is crying for him, and that means Bucky missed him, maybe still misses him, maybe wants him like he does in return, maybe needs him nearly as much.

_I’m with you till the end of the line, and this is not the end, not yet. No, this will never end. We are forever, we’re eternal. We’re us and we’re united, and it will stay that way because I found you, and I’ve got you, and I love you, and I’m not letting you go away anymore._

Without meaning to, Steve draws back just far enough to kiss his love’s soft, pink lips.

Bucky stills. The air stops.

The brunet turns his head to look at Steve, eyes wide as saucers. Steve begins to panic. He didn’t mean to do that at all. He knows he needs Bucky, and when Bucky rejects him, he won’t have him and then that’s it. He’ll lose his home, his very reason to life. _Everything. _

“Buck.” Steve stammers, head spinning to find the right words. “S - sorry. I didn’t mean...” but what didn’t he mean? Even if he didn’t mean to do it, he meant the unspoken words they carried and it’s just _I want you, I need you, I love you._

Bucky gives a sharp huff, and then he does the weirdest thing Steve’s ever seen him do.

He kisses him. He cups his cheeks, leans right in and _he kisses him. _

It’s the most magical and unexpected moment of his life that Steve starts crying again for a whole other reason altogether. He tries to kiss him back, like he’s always dreamt for, like he’s imagined and desired, but he’s crying, _he’s ruining it._ His fingers catch Bucky’s jaw, just as his legs can no longer maintain his weight with their trembling. Steve slowly sinks to the floor, his hands clasping onto Bucky’s in yearn, sobbing without control.

_And Bucky follows him__, _because Bucky told him he would, seventy years ago. _T__hat little kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, _he’d said, _I’m following him. _

Bucky falls to his knees and coils an arm tight around Steve’s shoulders. Steve doesn’t even try to stop; he whimpers, blubbers, spills tears into the crook of that neck. He grasps his hair, holds him.

“I’m here.” It’s right in his ear; low, soft with tears.

Steve nods, frantic. “_Hi_,” he whimpers.

“Hey, Steve. I’m here. We’re here.”

It’s true. Bucky really is here, and this time he’s really going to stay.

———

The truth is, in the private hours that he’d stolen between stage shows back in ’42, Steve writes a letter. It’s on the back of a poster, and it’s nothing neat or fancy, but it’s cathartic. Steve tells the truth to the one person who deserves it. 

Crazy thing is, he almost sends the thing. In the words, he’d confessed eternal love and expressed his longing for touch, his cries of being surrounded by girls and rubbing out every night to only the memories of him. He almost sends it, all of it, to mail.

It gets sent into the flames. Safe. Secret.

If Steve could go back, he’d have kept it in his pocket. If Steve could go back, he’d have told Bucky before the war started and have managed their way through the unrelenting times.

If Steve could go back, he’d have jumped when Bucky fell, and he’d let the world deal with Schmidt. His world isn’t theirs. His world is a soldier; a sergeant. His world had fell, and had been reborn, twice.

But still, Steve will not trade this day for anything. This is way too important.

Steve turns in bed, the sheets rustling gently with the movements. He reaches a hand forward and trails them up a metal arm, along his shoulder to cradle Bucky’s face. The brunet is asleep. Beside him, in the same bed, naked.

  
Bucky is his world.

Steve finds some spare paper. He writes.

———

_Bucky, _

_I have no clue how to say any of this, but you know my stubborn exceeds my ability to submit. _

_I will always find you. _

_This can keep happening, over and over again. We could be forced apart, torn away, captured, forgotten, enslaved, killed, even. It’ll never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough, because I was made for you, and you’ve taken me. I’ve loved you, and I still love you, and I’ll always love you, through heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak. Through everything you want to throw at me. Nothing could tear me from you forever. I was made for you, and nothing else. Everything of me is yours._

_I want you to know I’ll never expect this returned. I have no wish to force this from you. I offer myself, but you don’t need to take me any longer than you want to. If you want forever, I’m there, always. If you don’t, then I’ll take whatever it means for you. _

_But you’re taking me. I don’t know why, but you’re taking me, and I never thought we would end up like this. I’d imagined, desired, hoped. Never thought you’d really do it. You really are crazy. _

_I think maybe you were made for me too. You’ve loved me back. I don’t know why, but you have, and you do. There’s nothing more I could have asked from you._

_I don’t believe that I deserve you. I don’t think I ever could; you’re too good and far too perfect to be with me. You’re so kind, protective, loyal. They say I’m a good man, and maybe I am, but you’ve always been better. You jumped after me, even when I didn’t jump for you first, when it really mattered. But I promise, from now on, I will never let you go. I will jump for you, every time, and I’ll either catch you or die with you, and in the end at least we’ll be together. _

_If I had it my way, we’d already be dead, curled up together in the same grave. I’d have never been Captain America and you’d have never been the Sergeant or the Soldier. We’d be just us, the way we’ve been born and always have been. Nobody would disturb us. _

_But we’re alive. And I want to live this with you. _

_If there’s anything I want you to remember, it’s this. If they take your memory once more, I will simply remind you. Remember, this one thing._

_I love you. _

_I will always love you, until the end of the line, and way far beyond. _

_Love, _

_Yours. _


End file.
